


everything is illuminated and nothing matters

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Gen, I Steal People's Tags, Post Jiaying, Prompt Fic, major fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:19:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4971445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Super mushy Skoulson prompt fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	everything is illuminated and nothing matters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> Guys idek i just had to write some fluff.
> 
> For zauberer_sirin who prompted me (on tumblr). Thanks a lot!! :)
> 
> Prompt:  
> [DAISY SEES COULSON DRUNK FOR THE FIRST TIME]

She's kind of expected to see him get drunk on various occasions, and she knows he's been close – after all, they've had their fair share of missions gone south, missions with casualties, and their fair share of losses. But it's not even after the base gets _actually_ destroyed that he loses his sense of self-control. Tipsy, yes, but drunk seems to never have been an option for Agent Coulson, much less _Director_ Coulson.

And the weirdest part is, nobody would have reproached him if he had just _lost his shit_ after losing his hand. She knows, of course, that he has more self-respect than that, that his every part now aches to prove he's not even a hair's breadth less himself than he was before. And maybe it's just her, but while it's obvious that he's struggling a little to maintain the position he'd earned before, he's also making every effort to more or less _pull her up there_ with him. 

At first, she attributes his attempts at sharing mission responsibilities to him not being used to being back in the field yet, or to the fact that, like everyone else, he's been a bit lost since Jemma disappeared. This gradually changes as Coulson starts bringing food to their two-men-missions: first, it's just apples (he weirdly insists about her eating vitamines after using her powers too much, and they keep laughing about it), then like gas station sandwiches and/or crackers, until one day, he shows up with a whole box of self-made almond cookies, and she thinks she's going to faint because of how good they taste. He even offers her a small plastic bottle of milk and she's completely unable to even try and refuse it. Good that it's already night-time and Coulson can't quite make out her features as they're sitting in the back of the plane.

 

The next time one of their undercover missions goes wrong, she suggests they go and relax in a shady little bar next to the highway, because it's close. They're both still very wired and she can see how much he's struggling to maintain his usual cool self. Once or twice that evening, she considers telling him that he doesn't have to put on the Tough Field Agent Show with her, then drops it because for one, she can feel herself getting tipsy (to be honest, she can't feel her toes anymore, and that's always been kind of her tell), and secondly, it would be a little unfair to point out how uneasy he feels since he's lost his left hand (also, he _does_ have a lot of those moments on their missions where he's perfectly open and confident and himself). 

When they get home, she kind of just throws herself onto her bunk bed, frustrated that she's even gotten to the point where she feels a little insecure on her feet. Stuff hasn't exactly been Magic Fairy And Unicorn Wonderland since her transformation, and she's almost shocked to discover that even though ninety percent of the time, she feels just fine, there are times when she's not even sure who she is exactly.

When they meet in the Playground's kitchen the next morning, she nonchalantly tells him she wants to be called Daisy, effective immediately. He looks so genuinely shell-shocked that she puts her own mug of fresh coffee in front of him, smiling at him apologetically, and leaves for training.

 

Then there's her haircut, the recruitment missions, her suit, plain-clothed Coulson, new equipment: too many changes at once. She's weirdly bubbly about finally feeling confident about her looks, her name and most importantly, her powers during the first few days. Then Port Louis happens, and Coulson has to overstrain his academy French to even get them out of harm's way (needless to say, they're going dark for a while). She gets a very short and coded message to May, messing with a specific Chinese soap opera channel she knows May's father watches at a certain time (Hunter had been very specific about it on the phone), and they go off the grid.

Dropping off the face of the earth apparently also includes doing things you'd never really do in normal life – including making quiche with Coulson, and it's weird, but interestingly not at all unpleasant. She's always been opposed to every kind of actually-do-it-yourself cooking, but the Director apparently knows everything about seasoning and heat and timeframes and _she's sure he knows a whole cookbook by heart_.

They prepare the small table on the motel balcony and even though you can only see the sea if you lean over and squint, the view is sort of incredible. She's trying really hard not to make a small town girl impression on her boss, but he notices the shine in her eyes anyway, and it intensifies when he tells her he picked up some sparkling wine. She chuckles and asks whether there was anything to celebrate, and he more or less avoids the answer by pointing out that several occasions in the recent past had passed uncelebrated. She doesn't ask him to elaborate, just smiles at him and offers a tiny squeal as he opens the bottle with a pop. 

The quiche is unbelievably tasty, and she can feel the sparkling wine go to her head a little, though Coulson gets most of the bottle - about halfway through the meal, she gives up not prying and asks him about the most recent celebration-worthy event. Turns out it was his birthday around a week ago, but they'd already been on mission on the island and _of course_ he hadn't mentioned it.

They share the last bit of wine there is, and there is a bit of an awkward moment where she's not sure if they should call it a night or not. To be perfectly candid, neither of them really feels like abandoning the pleasant atmosphere on the balcony just yet. The air's become noisy, and the wind has gotten just a little bit damp. When they are completely finished with the quiche, she offers to bring everything inside and do the dishes. He wants to disagree, but then again, they both know he doesn't trust his left hand with fragile objects yet, so he just nods.

When she returns, a bottle of cheap Whiskey from the motel bar in tow, he looks very thoughtful but lightens up when she puts the bottle in front of him, clinking two small glasses together in her other hand. “I see you have a plan,” he smirks, and she nods. “Figured since we are more or less taking some time off here, we could just as well actually take some time off and enjoy ourself. I mean, what are our chances of leaving the island before next week? Noooone,” she emphasizes, putting both glasses on the table.

 

An hour or so later, they are dancing on the balcony, Coulson hiding his face next to her shoulder, hugging her a little awkwardly. In turn, she's smiling behind his ear. Granted, she's tipsy, too, but Coulson basically almost drank half of the bottle. She's still surprised how much at ease he's been; they've been laughing and chuckling and joking and telling stories more during the past hour than they have during the past six months. Everything feels light and uncomplicated and natural and she kind of wants to giggle at just how drunk Coulson is (she doesn't know what the man is doing with his feet, but it can't be denied that he's completely at her mercy, navigation-wise).

Things are getting a little heavy around her waist, though, and even though she's really enjoyed the evening (she's not even sure she's ever felt this happy and secure, but decides to postpone answering the question, because this might just still be the sparkling wine she's had), it might be a good idea to transfer Coulson to the bed.

Carefully, she whispers, “Coulson?”. He nods against her shoulder. “Coulson, I think we should, you know … go to bed.” She can feel him smile. “Should call me Phil then.” It irritates her. “Director, I'm not sure that such a good – Let go, Coulson, please.” It's hard to be strict with him since he feels so warm and his hair is such a tousled mess and he looks just so radiantly happy. Still, she tries to pry his fingers open behind her back, but good luck with that left hand.  
“Should be Phil.”  
She grins, giving in because he'll have forgotten until tomorrow anyway. “Okay, _Phil_. Let go, okay?”  
He releases her and she shoves him inside, making him pull off his shoes and lifting the covers so he can get it.  
“Night,” he mumbles, and she smiles at this small bundle of drunk and happy Phil Coulson. Not what she'd expected when they'd gone on mission, but _this is actually nice_ , she tells herself as she's closing the balcony door.

 

When she wakes up, Coulson's arm is around her. His _left_ arm. She immediately starts fiddling around with the robotic hand's fingers because _God_ , she so wants to spare him the embarrassment of waking up cuddled around his agent. She's not really more successful that she's been yesterday, though, and she knows detaching the hand would _definitely_ wake him up. With a deep sigh, she carefully starts vibrating the metallic fingers, but just like she's suspected, it wakes him up.

She half-turns to look at him and his hair's tousled and his eyes are closed and he's _smiling_ , damnit, and it's one of those moments when she's actually angry with herself for being this nice to Coulson, because it's at times like this that she just can't with his face. To be honest, she really envies May sometimes – she's never been one to hide her feelings really well and _good God_ , Coulson's opening his eyes and she fully expects him to take a triple salto backwards when he discovers he's actually been cuddling with her for most of the night.

“Morning, agent,” he says, and it might be the fact that he's still sleepy but she's pretty sure he's looking at her like she's the best thing since sliced bread (and just to clarify that, there's been sliced bread in his bag every time they've gone undercover, not to mention the olive jars and artichoke cans and _he's apparently bringing antipasti to every goddamn safehouse_ ). She expects to see his trademark agent face any moment now, but he just smiles and her own silence feels freaking awkward, so she half-whispers “Morning, Coulson”. 

Basically, she just wants to dissolve into thin air at the moment, because this is real and he's not really moving his arm at all and everything is just so warm and fluffy and she wants out, because this can't be, it can't be that Director Coulson is willingly and consciously hugging her _in bed_ , looking at her with this stupid morning smile and his stupid messy hair and his stupid look that totally means he's in awe, and it can't be that there is actually nothing weird and problematic about this, because as far as her experiences go, there's always been something weird and problematic about waking up with a guy, at least after a few months.

“It's _Phil_ ,” he whispers, and just for a nanosecond, his smile is gone, and she suddenly understands how he's putting his everything at her mercy in that moment, how everything else between them is just gone for a split-second, every blockade, every wall gone. It's just this moment, but he looks so fragile and his fear so _real_ that she has to finally smile back at him. So he does remember. So he doesn't object. So this is actually happening. Before she catches herself doing it, she's released a long sigh. He's about to ask if she's okay, but then there's this tiny “Morning, _Phil_ ” that she sends floating across the pillow and suddenly, everything is illuminated and nothing matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you didn't fall because of all the slippery mushy fluff.  
> Tell me what you think :)


End file.
